


Catch

by merelyafigment, visionofblue (merelyafigment)



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Community: hardtime100, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/merelyafigment, https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/visionofblue
Summary: N is for... nuggets, numb, and noticing. Glimpse of post-series Miguel Alvarez and Ryan O'Reily working in the hospital ward, drifting through their lives behind bars. Or maybe not. (Written for a Hardtime 100 drabble challenge.)
Relationships: Miguel Alvarez & Ryan O'Reily, Miguel Alvarez/Ryan O'Reily
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Catch

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: terrible language and mention of drug use. (For Oz? It's terribly tame )
> 
> Written for Hardtime 100 (on dreamwidth and livejournal) Drabble Challenge #279: N is for...
> 
> Yes, yes, I fail at drabbles.

Metal bit into his skin where Ryan’s forehead rested against the thick mesh covering the window. (Cage. It was a cage.) 

The hospital ward had far more windows, but not much more light than the kitchen. (Because of that fucking cage they were all locked in, which was even more obvious here.) 

"Even your grumpy Irish ass didn't serve fucking bricks like this. Who the hell is working the kitchen now, man?" 

A year ago... three? Four? How long had he been struggling? Anyway, a fucking lifetime ago (Cyril's lifetime, gone now) Ryan would've turned immediately with a question. 

He would've noticed someone’s appearance in the first place. 

Now it took longer to turn Ryan from the metal bite of his cage, from the shitty window. 

"What?" It came out as slowly as he'd turned, sounding as tired as he was. Had known who it was -- Ryan was tired, not dead (not yet), and that motherfucker had a pretty distinct voice. 

Miguel Alvarez, lying on a hospital bed, holding up... how the fuck did he get a nugget? They were on work detail, in their matching scrubs, thinner than his old kitchen gear. 

"Nuggets, O'Reily. Fucking petrified them today." 

Alvarez was on his back, one knee up, one arm outstretched above him, holding up his mystery nugget while he like, fucking examined it or something. 

"So?" 

He must've stolen it off a patient's tray. 

Alvarez looked less fucking high than usual, maybe. Given that he was questioning random nuggets and lounging during his shift, maybe not though. 

Nope, Ryan wasn't dead. He saw the look on Alvarez's face, knew what was coming even before he warned-- 

"Catch." And tossed the fucking thing. 

That’s what you did with fucking projectiles in here, even when you were tired. He looked at it with distaste. Yeah, it was rock hard, and nobody was eating it after their manhandling, not even Alvarez's Destiny-fueled ass. Another fucking thing to clean up. At least it wasn't shitty sheets. 

"They harder when they’re frozen?" Miguel was smart enough not to wait for the answer Ryan definitely wasn't fucking bothering with. "Think they could do any damage?" 

A scoff that sounded like, maybe felt like, the ghost of laughter escaped Ryan. (Like he thought nothing in here could escape.) "You're in a fucking room with scalpels. I'd choose them over the nugget slingshot there, pal." 

Felt a little more awake, maybe. 

Alvarez was high on the regular now. 

Drifting. 

Checked out. 

Or... 

...He _had_ been. 

This was new. (Or old, maybe.) 

High-ass floating without a care Alvarez wouldn't have been contemplating weapons. Hadn't done anything but be a caged zombie. (Like Ryan.) 

Something was changing. 

Maybe several somethings. 

Because Ryan felt less tired. 

And he noticed. 

***  
End


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